Green Eyes
by Hiyume
Summary: "And now... here I am," Dell finished with a mumble. Ben gave him a small, thoughtful smirk. "Here we are."


**A/N: **Terribly sorry to anyone waiting for updates on my other fics. Only reason I was able to write this was because it was for a school assignment, and was also a request made by cripplefinger on Tumblr.

Anyway, hope you enjoy, and reviews/constructive criticism are always appreciated C:

Ghost: Thank you very much, and actually yes! That Gmod picture is what inspired this fic in the first place~

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Team Fortress 2. It belongs to Valve.

The passenger train was dark and old, and looked more like a supply train with bus seats tucked to the sides. The lights flickered with every slight bump in the track, and the only way that air seemed to come in was through a few vents close to the ceiling. There were no windows, so he couldn't tell where they were, even after the escorts had taken off his blindfold. Though it didn't really matter. It wasn't like he would have been able to tell.

It was only after these observations that his gray-blue eyes settled on the seat in front of him. Odd, that those escorts—whomever they were—had placed him in this specific seat, because every other one was empty except for the one directly facing him. That seat was occupied by a stub of a man, who sat looking equally as confused. His head had just been shaved, it seemed, though there was some fresh stubble already growing along his jaw and under his chin. He wore goggles over his eyes, and there was a yellow hardhat on the seat next to him, which was probably meant to go with the rest of his uniform. Along with his getup, he wore a set of brown overalls with work boots and a bold red shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. There was a small emblem on his upper arms. It was an orange circle, but instead of crosshairs, like he had on his own red shirt, there was a wrench. The only thing he could truly identify as the man's own was his mouth, where the slightest bit of a smile seemed to remain even when his face was slack, giving off an aura of trust and kindness, as if this stub had known him for years.

"Seems like we're goin' to the same place, partner," the man stated, giving off a heavy Southern drawl. He nodded nervously at being spoken to, eyes shifting, but he stayed quiet. The Southerner didn't seem at all discouraged, as he continued, putting out his gloved right hand, "The name's Dell Conagher. From Bee Cave, Texas. How 'bout you, son?" The suffix was strange, since he was sure he was a few years older than the Southerner, who he guessed was in his mid-thirties.

"Benjamin Mundy," he finally muttered, taking his outstretched hand. "Australia." In truth, he didn't really have a home town—he'd travelled around the outback most of his life—so mentioning that he'd been raised in Adelaide didn't seem important.

It was only in that moment that he realized how much different he was compared to the Texan sitting before him. While Dell looked to be just over five feet, Benjamin was over six, and while he looked wide and well-fed, he was lanky and thin. His dark brown hair was just short of an inch in length, with sideburns ending right before the bottom of his earlobes. Though their uniform (despite the Southerner having overalls and himself having pants and a thick vest) somehow made them the same. Something that they shared. Something to which they could relate.

Dell smiled. "Ah, Benjamin. Ya don't mind if I call you Ben, do ya?"

Ben shrugged and let go of Dell's hand. "'S'fine," he reassured in a rather pronounced Aussie accent, and in an unconscious motion he reached up to tip the slouch hat that he'd forgotten was no longer there. He flustered, holding his hand up dumbly for a moment before bringing it back onto his lap. Dell laughed kind-heartedly at his slip.

"Much obliged," he grinned, copying Benjamin and tipping an imaginary hat. The grin seemed to capture Ben, because while Dell's natural smile gave off the feeling that he'd known him for years, that grin made him return the feeling.

Despite feeling confused and secluded and insecure, he found himself smiling right back, just a little.

* * *

><p>They must have talked for hours while they waited for the train to arrive at their unknown destination. They shared thoughts and life experiences—things that Benjamin hadn't thought he'd ever share with anyone, but somehow he felt comfortable telling Dell. The man, in return, spoke just as freely about himself.<p>

The reason Benjamin was so hesitant in speaking of his own life, though, was because he felt as though not much had happened in his forty years. Yet as he spoke he felt like he could speak for days without having to stop and think.

He had, in fact, lived a solitary life. His mother had been a sweet woman—not necessarily _beautiful_ but nothing to pronounce her as ugly—who'd loved and cherished both him and his older brother Adrien. Where his mother was kindly, his father was her polar opposite. He was strict and abusive, his face creased with years of hate and judgment. That's why Ben had stolen Adrien's rifle and had run away from home the moment he'd gotten his hands on a cheap van. It was an old run down truck that had managed to last these twenty or so years, even with the occasional maintenance check. Everything after that was more of an empty shell. He hunted game in the outback and went after a bounty when finances seemed scarce. Not that he needed much, of course. And the years passed, the faces of kind strangers blurring together to form the abstract painting that was his life.

And how did he end up here? Oh, that's right. It was an ad in a newspaper. It seemed too good to be true, that little ad tucked into the corner on one of the back pages. When he'd called the number for Reliable Excavation Demolition (or simply 'RED'), they had offered him enough money for him to retire by the end of the two-year contract—enough to buy a house and live in prosperity for the rest of his days. At the time it sounded like paradise, but as he spoke to Dell he found that it was… _suspicious_. There hadn't really been a job description. There was something, though, mentioned breifly. It said something vaguely about being a mercenary, but assured that his life would not be in danger. Odd.

Dell's life was much an opposite of his own, as he'd expected. Ben had dropped out of high school and run away, but Dell was a family man with 11 PhDs. He'd married in his early twenties and had two children, a six-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy. He spoke on and on about them, and eventually he got so emotional that he removed his goggles to wipe a tear that had fallen from a shocking green eye. Ben couldn't help but feel a little jealous of Dell, who shared such a connection with people. He had someone to miss.

The reason for the Texan's recruitment was actually a recommendation that had been handed to him after he'd finished university just a few months back. The pay for his tuition had been extensive, and his wife was stuck at home taking care of his kids. They needed money. He'd kept the slip of paper on his desk, suspicious of its tremendous offering, but eventually the situation became desperate.

"And now… here I am," Dell finished with a mumble. There was a silence that settled upon them after that. Not necessarily an awkward silence, but there was an air of emptiness, as if there was more to say, yet nothing came to either of their minds.

It was only a few minutes later that the screeching of the train's brakes cut through the air. They looked around for a moment instinctively, even though there were no windows to hint at their destination. Once the train finally rolled to a stop, Ben caught Dell's gaze. The man had put his goggles back on but he could see the hesitance on his face—how his natural smile seemed to waver. Ben gave him a small, thoughtful smirk.

"Here we are."

* * *

><p>They were let off the train behind a large red building and led inside through a backdoor, where a sign greeted them with 'Welcome to 2Fort!' in cheery writing. It was a strange name, but they soon found out why it was called as such, and just how fitting the name really was. An escort brought them around the base, first introducing them to the rooms they'd be occupying for the next two years. Then it was to the kitchen, the rec room, and everything else that made the place seem homely.<p>

It was after all of that that the escort finally brought them outside, onto the battlements of the second floor. It literally was, in fact, two forts. Their own, a large red base, and another across a large pit filled with water, about thirty feet squared, that presumably lead into sewers. That fort was blue, belonging to Builders League United ('BLU'). A wide roofed bridge spanned the waterway. The only sign of civilization passed the barbed fences was the train track, stretching on for what seemed like forever into the empty horizon.

Other than the colour and some architectural differences, the forts were the same.

Ben didn't have much time to reminisce, due to the fact that the escort led the both of them back inside into the rec room where seven mercenaries awaited them. Had some sort of announcement been played while they were outside?

The escort left to board the train back, and immediately the two of them were greeted with pleasant—and some _not_ so pleasant—hellos. All seven of them were unique—a giant Russian man, a strict German doctor, a black Scottish drunk, a rowdy Bostonian just out of his teens, a cocky Frenchman, a Yankee soldier who's honour and sense of duty outweighed what seemed to be everything including social skills, and… an ambiguous character who was covered completely by a flame-retardant suit, their ethnicity and background unidentifiable behind the voice that was more like mumbling behind their gas mask.

None of them introduced themselves by name. Only by 'class'—their job title. What was even stranger was that when Ben tried to introduce both Dell and himself by name, the others denied it. They looked at the both of them as though they were stupid, and in fact _corrected _them by saying they were not Ben and Dell, but the Sniper and the Engineer. Ben tried to protest, but it was obvious that he couldn't get through to them, and if he tried to prod further a riot would likely start. So he left it at that, however strange it was.

The only one that seemed to acknowledge them by name was the Scout—the boy from Boston. After everyone left, he remained and approached the two new recruits, introducing himself, quite enthusiastically, as Adam. Both smiled and accepted his greeting warmly, as though forming a forbidden friendship between the three of them.

Adam gave them the run-down of what would happen, and what their jobs would be, since there had apparently been a battle scheduled for the day. A siren would go off, signaling that the fighting had begun. Ben and Dell looked horrified at this, but Adam reassured them that everything would be fine, since there was a _'respawn system_.' Not quite sure what he meant, but feeling that they could somehow trust the boy, their panic subsided.

He explained what the mission was—to run into the enemy's basement and collect a briefcase from the Intel room, and bring it back to their own. The instructions for the jobs assigned to them were located in their rooms.

However, when Ben asked how they would know where to find the briefcase, Adam seemed to hesitate. He fiddled with his fingers and bit his lip, as if thinking how exactly to say what needed to be said. Finally he let out an exasperated sigh and explained.

The inside of the bases, just like the outside, were the same. The blueprints were the same. Both teams had the same amount of mercenaries, which had the same class names, the same weapons, the same objective… the only difference was the colour that signified their alliance.

Everything was the same.

* * *

><p>Ben had barely had any time to go over his instructions before the sirens went off, counting down the thirty seconds before the battle began. What he'd generally understood was that he was the Sniper, a <em>'Support'<em> class. His weapons were a rifle, an SMG gun, and a kukri—a machete-type blade. His job was to take out any enemy's that his teammates were having trouble with from a safe distance, only using close-range combat if absolutely necessary. It seemed pretty simple, but the way it spoke of 'taking out' enemies made shivers of horror run up his spine. It made it sound like killing was as normal as breathing.

Dell's job was even stranger. He had a shotgun, a pistol, and a wrench, but his main use was building. Building things that seemed impossible, even to the mind of a man with 11 PhDs. Yet when they entered the battle, everything worked—a sentry gun with motion sensors that only went off when enemies passed, a teleporter which disassembled the human form and put it back together elsewhere, and a dispenser that held ammo and gave off healing rays that seemed to reverse the effect of wounds as though they'd never happened.

When everyone entered the battlefield and the deafening sounds of gunfire and explosions filled the air, Ben was sure everyone would be dead within a few minutes. He saw the large Russian, the _'Heavy'_, rush out and get gunned down. Ben took cover behind a wall and placed his slouch hat against his chest, taking in deep breaths and praying quietly.

But he was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, and when he looked, there was the Heavy, looking at him with confusion and concern.

That's when he recalled Adam mentioning a respawn system. Is that what he'd meant? What the ad had meant by not being in danger? They were brought back to life?

Was death just a game in this place?

It wasn't long after that Ben was able to experience it himself. The BLU Sniper got him right between the eyes.

The experience of respawn was almost impossible to comprehend. It was as if the entire world had gone dark, and it felt like he was floating up, into the sky, only to be plucked and pulled back down abruptly by an invisible hand, refusing his mind and soul the freedom that death should bring. And just like that he woke up in a blank white room, body and all, taking in a large gasp of air, like a newborn breathing for the first time.

This happened what must have been at least a dozen times, but no matter how many times he woke up in that white room that connected to the medbay, he never got used to it. Each time he managed to take someone down, he still winced and became nauseous with guilt. Death was still death.

The battle ended after hours of fighting, when Adam managed to grab the briefcase and run all the way back to RED's Intel room. That was the thing about Scouts. They weren't powerful, but they were fast.

The moment they were permitted inside, Ben went to his room and set all of his weaponry to the side, taking off the thick vest and sitting on the edge of the bed that was too short for him. He rubbed his pale face and took in long, shaking breaths, trying to compose himself. Sure, he'd killed before—for bounties—but not like _this_. Not so many times in one day. How many times had he taken those people's lives? Five times each? It was overwhelming.

It was late in the evening when he finally decided to move, but it was not to sleep or to eat—his stomach churned horribly at the thought of it. He wanted to visit Dell. Was he holding up all right?

The Aussie walked down the hall, passing a few doors before finding the one that belonged to the man. He knocked.

No answer.

He waited a minute or two, but there was nothing. Again he knocked, a little louder, and he pressed his ear against the door. A noise. It was faint, and for a moment he couldn't tell what the sound was. But then he registered it. It was a sob. A tragic, painful sob that shot straight to Ben's heart. He pulled back from the door and grabbed the knob, twisting it and slowly opening the door.

The room was dark except for a lamp that sat on the desk in the far corner. In the seat, with his elbows on the surface of the desk and his face in his hands, was Dell. Ben froze up at the sight.

"… Dell?" Ben whispered. No movement. He opened the door further so that he could enter, his footsteps just loud enough so that the Texan knew he was there, but not loud enough to startle him. He didn't move at all, even when Ben was standing right behind him. "Dell…?" Ben repeated, daring to reach out a hand and place it on the man's shoulder.

"Why?"

Ben pulled his hand back, a little startled. Dell's voice was raspy and almost unrecognizable, like someone had scraped sandpaper on his vocal chords. The taller man stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Why are we here?" He cried silently, his hands sliding up his face, cupping his bald head before running down to encase the back of his neck. Ben didn't say anything, but after a while it was obvious that Dell had actually been looking for an answer.

"We signed up for it, mate—"

"No!" The sudden ferocity in Dell's voice, accompanied by the way he whipped his head around to face him, made Ben take a step back. "_Why _are we here? I didn't sign up for any of this! I didn't sign up to kill some folks who might be just as confused as I am, who have homes and families, for some cause we haven't even been told about."

He paused then, because fresh tears had started to pour down the red streaks that had formed beneath his eyes. His green irises seemed to pierce into Ben, as if accusing him. But he wasn't. Beneath that accusing glare was a cry for help, drowned by a flood of misdirected anger. He took in a few gasping breaths before finally whispering, low and weak, "What are we fightin' for…?"

And a moment later, he answered his own question.

"Nothin'."

* * *

><p>Weeks passed before they could settle into a little routine. The killing became a little bit easier as time went on, but that nauseous feeling was always there; the guilt of taking a life.<p>

Ben went to visit Dell after every battle, whether they won or lost. Sometimes Adam would tag along. They also made a campfire every week, just the three of them, getting drunk with the cheap beer that the Demoman always seemed to have stocked on hand. They imbibed copious amounts of the booze, laughing the night away. Not only was it a way to bond, but it kept them sane. It was their own little civilization in the middle of this prison.

They couldn't refer to their real names around the others. Ben had experienced first-hand what could happen. Once he'd referred to Dell as Dell instead of Engineer, or 'Engie,' as some of the other teammates had conveniently nicknamed him. They'd all looked at him in rage, like a parent hearing their child swear for the first time. The Soldier, on what seemed like impulse, pulled back a fist and punched him square in the jaw. He also learned, that day, that the bewildering healing powers of the Medic's 'medigun' did not work during ceasefire, nor did it heal the injury during battle. His jaw was sore for half a month after that.

None of the others questioned the placement of this war. There was no doubt in Ben's mind that they'd accepted whole-heartedly their duty for RED. And even if they didn't, Ben wouldn't dare ask, in fear of receiving something worse than a punch to the jaw.

So they held on that way, just the three of them, their bond becoming their only safety net for whatever sanity could be kept in this place.

But then weeks turned into months, and one day, Adam was gone.

Ben, in panic, went and asked the first person he bumped into about what had happened. That person was Medic, who was more than happy to explain. There was a system called _'Autobalance_,' when there is a need to even out the teams. Something had happened on BLU, something that had forced their Scout, and possibly another member, to leave the battle. The first thing that crossed Ben's mind was the worst conclusion—that whomever their Scout was had been terminated by his own teammates. He shivered.

Adam was in his place.

He didn't know too much about Adam—his father had died when he was young, leaving his mother to take care of him and his four brothers—but he was rowdy and energetic, and his cocky attitude brought a sort of optimism into their civilization. But he was gone.

It was not long after that things began to change.

Dell stopped showing up for their weekly campfires. Three campfires of sitting alone later, Ben stopped showing up too. But he still visited Dell after every battle… though as each battle passed the Texan seemed less and less affected by the deaths that he caused. He grew quieter, more secluded, while Ben desperately tried to hang on to something that, for most of his life, had not been at all important—another person.

Then there was a day when everything he knew of Dell became nothing.

It was a day of ceasefire. There would be no battle. Ben went to Dell's room anyway. As always, he knocked and opened the door.

"Dell?" he called out. He was sitting at his desk, scribbling on some kind of paper and whispering under his breath hurriedly. The little snippets that Ben caught sounded like equations of some sort.

Dell didn't turn. For the first time since that first battle, Dell didn't turn around or even acknowledge his name being called. Ben furrowed his brow and called out again, walking into the room. Still nothing. He felt bile rise in his throat, the sight of Dell working diligently on what could only be blueprints for weapons making him nervous. He stayed quiet, hoping maybe the man would turn eventually of his own accord and see him. But he didn't, for a full half-hour. Ben gulped, and before he knew what he was doing, he spoke, and called him something he thought he never would.

"Engie?"

Dell turned.

Ben stared wordlessly, at a lack of what to say. Dell's green eyes were bloodshot, his stubble more prominent, as if he'd been awake for days. But those features were not what captured the Aussie the most. No. It was his mouth.

The natural smile was gone, replaced by a thin, neutral line.

Suddenly Ben was looking at a stranger.

Dell waited for him to say something, but when he didn't, he turned back to his papers, scribbling and muttering equations under his breath.

* * *

><p>Battling was harder than ever, because Adam was on BLU. That meant having to kill him. Ben's nausea was back tenfold. He'd puked on more than one occasion, sometimes simply refusing to leave the medic bay unless someone ordered him to get out and fight. It was too much for him—Dell still spoke to him, but in a broken, unnatural way, as though a part of him was missing. And having to kill Adam was like killing the very last shred of hope Ben was holding onto. The last hope of keeping Dell intact.<p>

More and more time passed, which meant freedom came closer and closer, until eventually it had been two years.

Two years. The contract was over.

But like the imaginary hand of respawn, that freedom was taken away, pulling them back into chaos.

They all boarded the train at once, blindfolded and sedated, and when they woke up there was no possible way to tell how much time had passed or where they'd gone. The only thing that was certain was an inkling Ben had. He was was pretty sure that somehow they'd transferred trains at some point, because their seating arrangements were different from when they'd left 2fort.

They were brought to another prison, this one called Sawmill—a swamp-like place with dark, dreary skies and muddy roads connecting the shack-like houses.

Their objective? Collect the briefcase.

More fighting, more monotony, more loss of hope.

But there was a change. A new recruit. Another Scout.

He was a bit younger than Adam, and just as confused as when Dell and himself had arrived as mercenaries to RED. When everyone left the rec room—if the shabby little nook of the shack could be called such a thing—Ben approached the boy and introduced himself with his true name. The boy smiled and said he was Mike. They shook hands.

But the gesture felt empty. Dell wasn't there.

A battle began only a few hours later, but with both sides not yet accustomed to the change in scenery. The battle was slow, mercenaries running about more freely in search of strategic pathways.

It was a quiet, quick battle, and though BLU had won, Ben didn't feel at all defeated. It never seemed to matter because no matter who won what battle, nothing changed.

Everything was the same.

Afterwards, Ben was heading towards Dell's room, as he always did, when Mike suddenly came rushing towards him. He crashed into his back violently, almost making the older man trip over, but he caught himself and turned to face the boy. Mike didn't look at all shocked or disturbed, but there was a panicked and horrified look on his face. Whatever was on his mind was urgent.

"'S'wrong, mate?" Ben asked, concern furrowing his brow. At that, Mike started talking a mile a minute, his words forming into unintelligible nonsense. "Slow down. I don't understand what you're sayin'."

Mike took in a few breaths, and this time it took him an attempt or two before he could finally get his words out properly.

"The- the other Scout," he huffed, grimacing as if the following words would hurt him. "He's my brother."

* * *

><p>He needed to get out. <em>They <em>needed to get out. It was only after what Mike had said that he comprehended how truly corrupt this operation was. His contract was supposed to be over along with Dell's and, undoubtedly, Adam's should have been as well.

If they didn't try to leave, they'd be stuck here for what could possibly be the rest of their lives.

So Ben explained his situation to Mike, and gave him a proposition. Get Adam's attention. Make him realize who he's fighting. Plan to meet on Sunday, when the supply train arrived. The train was their only chance to reach civilization again, so that's what they'd use.

The next battle, Mike did just that. Granted Adam killed him quite a few times before he recognized his sign of surrender—not shooting, standing in one spot, arm outstretched and ready to drop his weapons—but he did it. He returned to base with the enemy's briefcase, along with news for Ben that Adam was in on the plan.

They had three days before Sunday. Three days until the possibility of freedom.

And one more thing to do before the plan could take motion.

There was a knock on Dell's door.

"Can I come in?" Ben mumbled. Nothing but scribbling was his reply. He let himself in. Dell was sitting at his desk, like always. He seemed to be a part of the architecture, with how many times the Aussie had walked in to see him sitting in that exact spot, his scribbles and mumblings almost robotic.

He stepped over to the man, and instead of standing behind him or taking a seat, he knelt down beside him and placed a hand over the Texan's. Ben's grip forced him to stop writing, so he turned, reluctantly, in his chair to better face him.

For a while, Ben was silent, just looking at Dell, trying to find the stub of a man he'd first met.

"_Dell,_" Ben pronounced slowly, addressing him by name and not by class, "Do yeh remember the things y'told me on the train two years back?" No reaction. "About your family? Your kids? How much y'love 'em?"

No reaction.

Ben took in a shaky breath, having to close his eyes for a moment before continuing.

"I bet they miss yeh, Dell. I bet they think about yeh every day."

Something. He didn't seem to move, or even do anything at all, but there was some sort of flicker in the back of his irises. A recognition. An emotion. Ben tightened his grip slightly on the Southerner's hand.

"Well you c'n see 'em again. Y'have a chance. Three days from now I'm leavin' with the Scout." Another squeeze of his hand. "You c'n go home, mate. Go back to what y'had before. They're waitin' for yeh."

Dell's mouth twitched slightly at that. It was only for a moment, but that was enough. Ben waited for it. And waited… and _waited_.

And finally he spoke the one word he'd been looking for.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>Those three days, filled with anticipation, lasted an eternity. The battles seemed to last forever. Sleep never seemed to come soon enough and, even when Ben managed to lapse into a stressful dream, he woke constantly in the middle of the night. The idea of freedom was lost to him after just two years. To have it again sounded like a fantasy. A fairytale.<p>

Except it was _real_.

It was early evening on that Sunday that Ben, Dell and Mike managed to sneak out of RED's quarters. They kept to the shadows, and thankfully they didn't have to walk far. Their meeting place was a small storage house just across from the train station, mostly empty due to the town being deserted.

"Mike?" a voice called just as they passed through the doorway. The younger froze at his name being called, eyes widening to see Adam already there, sitting lazily on a crate. Adam's face immediately lit up when he saw Ben and Dell walk in behind him. "So this is really happening?" Even as he asked that, he got up and wrapped his arms around both of the older men. Ben smiled slightly and gave his own small hug in return.

"Yeah. We're leavin'."

"Sweet," Adam said, and he sounded out of breath, in the sense that he was overwhelmed with what was happening. They all were.

No more killing. No more respawn. No more pointless battles. All of it would be gone. They could return to their families, or do whatever they wanted. After all he'd gone through, Ben finally felt it was time to see his parents again. Adam and Mike could be with their mother. Dell would return to his wife and kids.

_Freedom_.

"Freedom," Mike exhaled, as if reading Ben's thoughts. Adam turned around to face Mike once more, and he nodded.

"Now all we have to do is—"

He'd just been turning back to face the older two when his sentence was cut off by a blunt object hitting him hard against the side of his face. Mike let out a yell of utter horror, his hands making a motion to cup the sides of his own cranium, but they hovered there, not sure what to do. The object had hit him hard enough to puncture his skull. Blood started to pool around the unconscious boy.

The object which had caused it was a wrench, held firmly by the only one in the room that had access to the tool.

Dell.

"No!" Ben cried out, grabbing Dell's shoulder and the arm holding the wrench to keep it from swinging down on Adam once more. "What are you doing!"

"He's a BLU," he spat angrily, trying to rip his arm free of the Aussie's grasp, "we can't trust 'em, Sniper. Use some goddang sense!"

"Listen to yourself, Dell. Don't you remember who he is? It's Adam. He was a RED. He was your friend, Dell. Dell, you need to—"

"Stop!" he leaned back and turned suddenly, throwing off Ben's balance enough to rip his arm free of his grip. "Don't call me by that name. It's Engineer. _Engineer._"

Ben caught his gaze then, and he could see it. The blank. The dark space where Dell used to be. He was no longer Dell. No longer a loving father. No longer the man that he'd met on the train, who he'd so easily opened up to.

He was just an empty shell.

The Engineer swung back around, too fast for either Mike or Ben to stop him from bringing the wrench down on Adam's skull.

And this time, there was no respawn to tug the boy back into battle.

Into reality.

His mind and soul were free.


End file.
